8/10

There’s something quietly spellbinding about 'Caravan', the debut album by London-based multidisciplinary artist twins (aka Loz KeyStone). Written and recorded in the hollowed stillness of an old caravan on an apple farm, this is a record that aims to listen and take stock of grief and the ghosts of its past. It’s a hushed conversation with the self, set to a score of flickering guitars, sparse production, and lyrics that ache with purpose.

Following a soul-searching stint in Northern Colombia working with plant medicine, KeyStone found himself drawn back to songwriting after nearly a decade of silence. The death of his father had pressed pause on a part of him he wasn’t ready to confront. But 'Caravan' is the sound of that silence breaking open into clarity.

There’s a spectral quality to these songs, something almost translucent. KeyStone’s voice sits close to the mic, flanked by flickering electric and classical guitars that seem to echo off the walls of the caravan itself. Drum machines pulse gently beneath the surface, synth pads drift like a low fog. The result is music that feels hand-built, imperfect, and deeply human.

Lyrically, Caravan explores the inner frictions we carry, the hesitant parts of ourselves that keep joy just out of reach, carried effortlessly by the standout offerings 'Avoidance' and 'Here, Away'. But instead of wallowing in defeat, the album breathes with a kind of slow-burning determination. It’s about learning to live with the damage, and even sing through it.

For listeners attuned to the raw intimacy of Yo La Tango, the melodic tension of Low, or the unvarnished honesty of Elliott Smith, 'Caravan' will feel like a familiar but long-lost companion. But even with those touchpoints, twins is carving a voice entirely his own: part folk alchemist, part sonic minimalist, part spiritual archivist.

In a world full of overproduction and overstatement, Caravan is refreshingly human in its pursuits. twins is inviting you into a space where everything is stripped back, and the only thing left is truth. And somehow, in that solitude, something magnificent takes root.